


Fishing

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Fishing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A head injury has caused serious loss of memory</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Waters

_‘Is there any change?’_

 _‘Not that I can see. But at least it’s stopped bleeding.’_

 _‘He will recover. He **must** –’_

 _‘Don’t get your hopes up. It’s been seven days since the ambush.’_

 

…

 

dark

 

fear

 

dark

 

…

 

 _‘Listen, my son. I’ve seen men recover, and from worse wounds than this. He’s young, and strong. But his skull is broken. And when that happens… Sometimes the body mends, but the mind does not.’_

 _‘What are you saying?’_

 _‘I’m saying that even though he lives, he may be lost to us.’_

 _‘No…’_

 _‘And weeping won’t help him, or you. Believe me. I’ve tried it.’_

 

…

 

dark

 

drifting

 

drowning

 

nameless and despairing

 

nothing seen clearly

 

always the fear

 

…

 

 _‘You sent for me?’_

 _‘He’s been restless all night. Something’s changed. But whether for better or worse, I don’t know.’_

 _‘He’s not so hot. The fever’s abating.’_

 _‘His eyelids are flickering. I thought –’_

 _‘Maybe he’s dreaming.’_

 _‘Or maybe he’s trying to open them…’_

 

…

 

 

The pain comes in with the light.

 

There are noises.

 

A man brings water.

 

It is cold and bitter.

 

The man’s hair is dark.

 

It falls into his eyes.

 

The colour of his eyes has no name.

 

The bitter water drowns the pain.

 

The noises have stopped.

 

The man has no name either.

 

His hands are gentle.

 

The water is gone.

 

But now the man’s eyes are wet.

 

…

 

 _‘He still hasn’t spoken?’_

 _‘I don’t think he can. He can still barely get his eyes open. But I know he can hear us, Llud. I know it.’_

 _‘I’ll sit with him a while. You get some rest.’_

 _‘Talk to him. He’s… more peaceful when someone talks to him.’_

 _‘What about?’_

 _‘Anything. Everything. It doesn’t matter. Just let him know he’s not alone.’_

 

…

 

Dark, again. Flashes of colour.

 

Every darkness is different; and so is each waking.

 

Nothing to cling to. Never anything the same.

 

Like sinking into deep water.

 

Perhaps a story will banish the terror.

 

Once upon a time, there was an old man who talked about fishing.

 

Unless that was a dream.

 

And now something hurts, and there are noises –

 

…

 

Light breaks in, and the half-grasped ideas scatter, back to the darkness below the surface.

 

An old man is there.

 

He is telling a story. Has he told it before? It is hard to be certain. But maybe the same old man was here before, in another waking, and that is a comforting thought.

 

It is a good story.

 

It is not about fishing, but there is a child in it, and a journey home through falling rain –

 

Rain is wet, like the old man’s face, when he has finished the story. But there is no rain here in this house. So how do I know what rain is?

 

The fish skittle away as soon as you try to look at them in sunlight.

 

Sleep, then, and follow them back into the dark.

 

…

 

Another waking, in what might be the same house.

 

Dryness in the mouth, and an ache low in the belly, to add to the constant throbbing in the head.

 

And now the bed is wet.

 

That is not supposed to happen.

 

Although a river is wet, and a river runs in a bed…

 

A girl with dark hair, who talks with hands not mouth, rolls the helpless, nameless body over, without anger, but with surprising strength; washes it; changes the blankets.

 

She brings water, which is cold and bitter. She is not the same person who brought it before; but it might be in the same cup, and it is certainly the same bitterness, and that is very comforting, despite the foul taste.

 

The darkness closes in, and washes everything away again.

 

…

 

The old man is sitting by the bedside, as though he has been waiting for this latest wakening.

 

He is certainly the same old man. The old man who has only one hand, and tells stories.

 

Oh, how wonderful to know something for certain: like a rock in the deep water.

 

The old man is someone who can be trusted.

 

Hold his hand, and let him lead the way home.

 

…

 

The light is brighter today. The door of the house stands open, and there is a glittering from outside. Sunlight on the river, perhaps.

 

Did we fish in this river?

 

And beside the bed sits the black-haired young man. Yes, the same one.

 

His eyes are blue.

 

He is smiling, and he is beautiful, and he is talking softly.

 

His voice is pleasant and soothing, like the ripple of the river, and it is saying one word more often than any other.

 

‘Kai.’

 

What is… kai?

 

Perhaps – a thought flashes for an instant, like a fish turning – perhaps it is a name.

 

Hold that thought, play it, pull it in on its delicate line.

 

Other things have names. Light. Dark. Water. Fish.

 

If a person stays the same, from one waking to the next, perhaps that person might have a name.

 

How to know?

 

Bait the hook. Draw it in, and see what it has caught…

 

So hard, to make the arm move, and at first it will not. To curl the hand into a fist, and stretch one finger out. Bend the elbow, to point at the face.

 

‘What is it?’ He is watching; trembling.

 

A harsh sound comes from somewhere in the room.

 

‘Are you in pain? Can I help?’

 

Bend the elbow, curse it, bend –

 

Too far, and too sudden, and now there is pain, and wetness in the eyes.

 

The black-haired man leans closer; takes the hand in both of his own.

 

‘Kai,’ he says.

 

It is a name. It is. It has to be.

 

Breathing in is so hard. And the mouth stiff, like a fish’s mouth. Stranded, flailing. Gasping for breath.

 

‘K…’ Force it out, make it come, he must hear… ‘K… Kai.’

 

His smile is like the sun coming out. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Kai. You are Kai.’

 

My name is Kai.

 

And now my eyes are wet.

 

My name is Kai, and there are people here who know me.

 

…

 

I am not afraid to sleep now, to go into the dark among the broken images that drift and swirl in my mind.

 

I do not know who Kai is, yet, but I know that when I wake, I will still be him.

 

And perhaps I will start to remember.

 

…

 

The black-haired, blue-eyed man with the beautiful smile is still there when I open my eyes again.

 

He is the same. I am the same.

 

I am Kai, and I am on my journey home now, through the falling rain that fills my eyes.

 

But there is something else I have to know.

 

Slowly and painfully, I curl my hand into a fist; extend one finger.

 

He sees what I am doing, and watches me patiently.

 

I have done this before, I know. And this time it is not so hard as it was, whenever it was that I did it before.

 

Somehow I manage to point the finger at myself without getting it in my eye.

‘Kai,’ I say, at the third attempt.

 

He nods his head. ‘That’s right. You remembered. Kai.’

 

Now comes the hard part.

 

I sweat and struggle, but at last I lift the curled hand until the outstretched finger is pointing at him.

 

I have no breath or words to ask the question, but he reads it in my face.

 

‘Arthur,’ he says. ‘I am Arthur.’

 

I know his name.

 

Another catch to add to my treasured store.

 

Haul it to the bank; hit it on the head with a rock before it can wriggle back into the water and disappear; lay it beside mine, all shining and wonderful.

 

Kai and Arthur.

 

Nameless and despairing, I was; but no longer.

 

Arthur and Kai.

 

When I wake, I will still know which of us is which.

 

And he will still be here with me.

 

I slide back into sleep, and float on sunlit water.


	2. Swimming

It is a fine spring morning, with bright clouds in a blue sky, and the sun sparkling on the river.

 

Kai is riding beside me.

 

I have not told him where we are going, or why.

 

The terrible rent in the side of his head has healed over, and the hair has grown back to cover most of the scar. He looks, and sounds, very much as he did before, and he has spent the winter learning to do everything again: speak, and walk, and then ride, and heft a weapon.

 

Some things have come back to him in sudden flashes; some have slowly drifted back.

 

But one thing has not yet returned.

 

We reach the clearing by the old oak tree, and I rein my horse to a halt.

 

‘We’re stopping here?’ he asks.

 

My heart falls.

 

His face falls too. ‘You hoped…’ He looks around him, then shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur. I have no memory of this place. None.’

 

I heave a sigh. ‘Never mind. It’s… not important.’

 

He slides from the saddle, and stands looking up at me. ‘Don’t lie to me. I can tell, now. You thought to bring something back, by bringing me here.’

 

‘It’s gone,’ I say, and despite myself I feel my throat tighten.

 

‘And it mattered to you, that I should remember it,’ he says.

 

I nod. His eyes are fixed on my face, but I have to look away.

 

‘We should stop here a while, anyway,’ he says.

 

‘Very well,’ I say dully. One place is as good as any other.

 

We tether the horses, and sit on the sunlit bank under the tree, looking out at the river.

 

He has chosen the same spot on the slope, but it’s just coincidence.

 

He is watching me closely. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘I’ve let you down once more.’

 

He thumps the turf in frustration; puts his hands to his head, pulling at his hair.

 

Please, no – not today; not another fit of rage, howling and lashing out; I cannot bear it…

 

As though he hears my thought, he draws a harsh breath; holds it; lets it out slowly, and lowers his hands to the ground.

 

‘Arthur…’

 

‘What is it, Kai?’

 

‘What was I, to you?’

 

That’s not the question I was expecting, and it breaks my heart to hear him sound so sad.

 

I owe him the truth.  ‘We… were lovers,’ I say. ‘Had been for a few months, before...’

 

‘I don’t remember,’ he says. He heaves a huge sigh. ‘I wish I did. But I should have worked it out… No wonder you’ve been so unhappy, sometimes.’

 

‘It’s not your fault,’ I say, trying to sound calm, for his sake. He is still so easily hurt: his mind’s balance still fragile and uncertain.

 

But his next question un-mans me.

 

‘Did you love me?’

 

‘More than my life,’ I whisper, broken.

 

‘And… now?’

 

I cannot look at him – see his beloved, beautiful face, with a stranger looking out of his eyes.

 

And I cannot lay the burden of my love on him again. He would not be strong enough to bear it, even if in time he might come to feel the same way…

 

‘I don’t know,’ I say, tears rising to my eyes despite myself. ‘So much has changed.’

 

‘I am still Kai,’ he says, pleading.

 

I shake my head, the tears falling thick and fast. ‘You are not the man you were.  I can’t expect you to be.’

 

‘Perhaps not. Maybe I did change, when that Pict hit me over the head.’ He draws a sharp, angry breath between his teeth. ‘But what about the man I am now, Arthur? Am I not good enough for you?’

 

‘Don’t say that.’ I look down at the grass, where an ant is crawling, bearing a burden twice its own size. I know how that ant feels.

 

‘Why not?’ He sounds furious, and hurt. ‘Maybe some parts of me – of who I was – are gone. But I am still myself. I did not stop being Kai, even when I couldn’t remember my own name. And I did not stop –’

 

He falls silent.

 

‘What?’ I prompt him, out of habit. He still forgets, sometimes, what he was about to say.

 

‘I did not stop loving you,’ he whispers fiercely.

 

I cannot believe, at first, what I am hearing. Now I am the confused one: dumb and shaking, my mind thrown into a tumult of hope and fear and yearning. But Kai continues to speak with absolute certainty.

 

‘You were the first thing I saw when I woke up. I had barely any words to describe you – to think about you – but I knew, then, that I wanted you always to be there – that I had no wish to be in any place where you were not.’

 

He moves closer to me; grips me roughly by the shoulder, and turns me to face him.

 

‘Look at me, Arthur,’ he says. ‘You know that is still the truth.’

 

I meet his eyes… and now, it is no confused stranger who is looking back at me.

 

It is my Kai.

 

Oh, my heart… I wipe my streaming eyes on my sleeve, and lay a hand on his arm, to reassure myself that he is real.  ‘But… you never said anything,’ I choke out.

 

He is still frowning, but his grip on my shoulder loosens slightly. ‘No more did you.’

 

‘I was waiting… I wanted it to come from you. I didn’t want to put the idea in your head – to make you feel it was expected of you.’

 

His mouth twists bitterly.   

 

‘I was too ashamed of what I had become. I thought I was imagining it, when you looked at me with desire. You’d salved my wounds and  - and brought me the pot, and wiped my nose and held my hand when I cried, and fed me when I couldn’t do it myself. You couldn’t possibly want me. All broken as I am, why should you?’

 

‘But I do,’ I say, and it comes out as a wail of anguish. ‘And I would, even if you were still lying in that bed – even if you never mended – never remembered…’

 

‘Truly?’ He lets go of my shoulder; grips my hand between both of his.

 

I nod. I cannot speak.

 

He bows his head; presses my hand to his brow.

 

‘Arthur – if I have that – if I can believe that – then I don’t care what may have been forgotten. Because I know there will be more…’

 

‘Believe it,’ I tell him, and I gently free my hand, and run my fingers through his patchy hair, over the shiny, ridged scar where the bones of his skull have but recently knitted back together.

 

My touch makes his whole body tremble.

 

‘I’ve been an idiot,’ I say.

 

He sniffs, and wipes his eyes. ‘That makes two of us.’

 

Then he reaches out and pulls me close, and we need no more words; we sit holding each other on the bank in the sunshine, watching the glitter of sunlight on the river.

 

A fat pigeon alights in the tree above us, with a clatter of wings.

 

‘Blue,’ Kai says.

 

‘Pigeon,’ I tell him.

 

Poor Kai; sometimes his mind forms one word, and his mouth another.

 

‘No. Shut up. I almost had something there…’ He bites his lip, and mutters to himself, ‘Pigeon in the tree… blue… come on, Kai, reel it in, it’s important…’

 

Then he tightens his grip on me, and says triumphantly, ‘You wore your blue cloak, and there was a pigeon in the tree.’

 

His face lights up, with a joy that I have not seen there since before his injury.

 

‘I _have_ been here before,’ he says. ‘It was… in the spring, like this. And it was the first time… our first time… You said I was too thin. And I asked you – I was so afraid you’d say no – but you’d been waiting for me to ask, and you reached under my tunic…’

 

‘I did,’ I say. ‘And you reached under mine…’

 

He leaps up, with an exultant smile. ‘And we went swimming!’ He reaches a hand down to pull me to my feet.

 

And then he moves closer to me, and slides a hand under my hair, and whispers, ‘See, I hadn’t forgotten… it just took me a little while to remember…’

 

And he takes my mouth with his, from the corner, just as he used to.

 

My knees grow weak. I am floating in bliss. I never expected –

 

‘Come on,’ he says, grinning. ‘Let’s go swimming again. I bet I can remember how I got your breeches off – and I definitely recall what we did when we came out…’

 

I follow him down the river bank. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the pigeon take off again.

 

My heart soars aloft with it, into the blue of the bright spring sky.


	3. Dry Land

Stripped to the waist, I hesitate on the bank, my wild elation subsiding as swiftly as it came. I have not swum in a real river since… before…

 

The water looks dark, and deep. Cold, too.

 

So much else was washed away by my injury – what if I have forgotten how to swim?

 

What if I go under, and cannot save myself?

 

I don’t want to go back into the dark…

 

‘Kai?’

 

A hand is laid on my bare shoulder, and I jump.

 

‘Had you forgotten I was there?’ Arthur asks, laughing, as he puts a steadying arm about me.

 

He is not mocking me. I know he is not. All the same, his words cut deep.

 

Then he sees my face.

 

‘You don’t have to swim if you don’t want to,’ he says gently. ‘You are allowed to change your mind, you know.’

 

That cuts me deeper still.

 

My mind has been changed so many times, and not all of them by my own choosing. Not knowing who I am - this is the hardest burden of all to bear. And when the fear strikes, it is like drowning in deep water…

 

I pull a shuddering breath, try to get a grip on myself, all slippery and uncertain as I am once more, and out of my depth, where a few minutes ago I was standing confidently on solid ground.

 

Ye Gods, I hate this. Hate it – hate myself – I can’t breathe –

 

‘Kai,’ Arthur says into my ear. ‘Stop it. Remember what Llud taught you. Breathe. Right in. That’s it… now hold it. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go… Now let it out. Slowly. You’re safe, and you’re with me. And I love you.’

 

His arms around me are strong and sure. At length my racing pulse slows and my breath comes freely once more.

 

‘Oh, Kai,’ he murmurs, and there is such sorrow in his voice, and such love…

 

I hang my head; look down at the ground, at our bare feet on the green turf.

 

‘I’m going to keep doing this to you, you know,’ I say.

 

‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I stand by what I said. I don’t care what it takes, Kai. I would pay any price, to keep you with me.’

 

He cups my chin in his hand; raises my head, so he can kiss my mouth.

 

‘Anything,’ he whispers, and kisses me again. ‘Anything, if we can have moments like these…’

 

I am myself again.

 

Pull yourself together, Kai, and keep on saying that until you believe it.

 

Arthur believes it.

 

That should be good enough for you, too.

 

Deep breath. Try not to hurt him any more today.

 

‘So… are we still going swimming?’ I ask.

 

‘Only if you want to,’ he says.

 

‘I do.’

 

‘Then let’s see,’ he says, smiling, ‘whether you really can remember how to take my breeches off.’

 

I can. As with many other tasks, I would not be able to tell you how, if you were to ask me; but my hands know the way of it, and soon his belt is lying atop his tunic on the grass. And now he is the one whose breath is coming short and halting, as I peel his unlaced breeches down.

 

He steps out of them, and stands in the sunlight before me.

 

As I drink in the sight of his stripped body, he blushes; he is even more beautiful than I remember.

 

And I do remember.

 

Oh, I remember a lot of things about this place now.

 

Come on, Kai, you can do this.

 

I struggle out of my own clothes as fast as I can; I take Arthur’s proffered hand, and together we step into the water.

 

It is cold, but after the first shock on my skin it is not unpleasant; and with Arthur beside me I am not afraid. We wade out into the pool, and splash each other, and swim a little way up and down, just enough to prove to both of us that swimming is something else that I have not forgotten.

 

We stand knee-deep, and smile at each other.

 

The memories crowd around us in the water, darting and flickering.

 

I cast a line, and catch one. A gift for Arthur.

 

‘You threw mud at me the last time,’ I tell him.

 

‘I’m sure I must have had good reason,’ he says, and his smile grows even wider. ‘And then what happened?’

 

If I remember rightly, I nearly drowned. I take a couple of steps towards the bank. No sense in recalling that… throw it back, let it swim off into the shadows, try for a better catch. Green. There were green leaves in the mud – no, water-weed, that was it. Splattering into the side of my head, trickling slime and grit into my hair…

 

‘You washed my hair,’ I say.

 

‘Yes.’ Arthur splashes over to me; wraps his arms around me. His skin pressed against mine is damp and chilly, and we stick together. It feels wonderful.

 

There is a spreading warmth in my groin, and that feels wonderful too.

 

‘Would you like me to do it again?’ he asks, slightly hoarsely.

 

‘Please,’ I say. ‘Please…’

 

I kneel in the shallows, and bow my head.

 

Arthur kneels beside me, and runs his fingers through my hair. I hear him catch his breath as he touches the scars on my scalp, the marks of the rift where my life and soul so nearly drained away.

 

‘Your poor head,’ he murmurs, and kisses it gently.

Then I feel him pouring water over my head and my shoulders, cleansing me, his hands strong, and sure, and methodical as always.

 

Another flash of memory, and suddenly I am laughing.

 

‘What?’ Arthur wrings the water from my hair, and sits back on his heels. ‘What’s so funny?’

 

‘Haven’t you… forgotten something?’ I ask him.

 

‘Have I?’

 

‘Yes… the last time…’ I am breathless with laughter, and with something else too. I push the wet hair out of my eyes and stretch out on my back, propped on my elbows. ‘The last time, you… you washed my hair…’

 

‘At both ends,’ he says, flinging back his head with laughter. ‘How could I have forgotten – this?’

 

And he scoops up more water in his cupped hands, and pours it over my stiffening cock, which goes on stiffening despite the cold.

 

Then he washes very methodically around it; takes my balls into his cupped hands; kneels and kisses them with adoration.

 

I watch his every movement, every drop of water sliding from his dark hair, every glint of the light in his blue eyes. I do not want to forget a single moment of this. Not ever.

 

But I shiver, and gooseflesh runs over my skin.

 

‘You’re cold,’ he says, ‘and so am I. Come on. Time to warm you up again.’

 

He hauls me to my feet and helps me climb the bank. We move his cloak into a level spot, and lie down side by side in the sun’s welcoming warmth.

 

Arthur smells of the river, and of his own clean sweetness. I roll over and embrace him, crushing him to me, and whether this is an old memory or a new uprushing of love I do not know, but I do know that this is where I am meant to be. This is home.

 

‘Home?’ he says, and I realise that I have spoken aloud. Then he takes my face between his hands, and looks into my eyes, and understands. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Welcome home, my heart.’

 

I always loved it when he called me that.

 

His damp nipples are hard under my fingertips, and harder still in my mouth. And when I slide a hand down and touch his prick, he arches his back and makes a small strange noise whose name I do not know, and never did. But it is a beautiful sound, because it means that I have given my Arthur joy, after so long when it seemed all I could do was to take and take, and give back nothing but hurt. And so I touch him there again, to hear him once more…

 

I am hard. Stiff as a rod, as a tree, as a fish on the smoke-rack. But when Arthur reaches for me, I find myself pulling away from him, rigid all over with sudden fear.

 

He wants this so much, and he is only trying to give me what we both thought I wanted, too, but I am too afraid to take it.

 

And now I have hurt him again.

 

Damn you, Kai, you were so sure you could do this, and now look at you, slinking back under your stone rather than risk swimming towards the light.

 

A groan of frustration escapes me.

 

I move to roll onto my belly, hiding my face and my shameful cowardly cock, but Arthur puts a hand on my shoulder, to stop me.

 

‘It’s all right,’ he says.

 

I shake my head, tears seeping between my closed eyelids.

 

‘That was my fault, not yours,’ he tells me firmly. ‘It’s been a long time… I should have asked, first. I surprised you, that’s all.’

 

Was that it? I’m not sure, now. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and my words come slowly. ‘I do… remember. And I do want… I want you, I want us to be together… but I’m afraid to – to – ’

 

‘To let go, and be swept away,’ he says.

 

My eyes fly open in surprise. ‘You… feel the same?’

 

He kisses my brow; wipes my tears away with the back of his hand. ‘Of course I do. It is no easy thing, to strip bare and swim out from the bank, into the deep water – to risk losing one’s self. But we did it before, and came safely home.’

 

‘We were careful,’ I say, remembering now how astonished I was to discover that Arthur could be afraid of anything.

 

‘Together,’ he says, and smiles at me. ‘We were careful together.’

 

He leans in and kisses me, and soon we are as hard as we were before, and wrapped around each other just as closely; his hands stroking my sides, my shoulders, my arse, my everywhere…

 

You fool, Kai. You have these hands to hold you up. You need not fear that you will ever drown again.

 

I let go of my fear; let the flood bear me away wherever it will.

 

Arthur rolls over; coaxes me to lie on top of him. The sun is warm on my back, and Arthur beneath me is warmer, although here and there his skin is still clammy and cool from the river, with specks of grit clinging to the dampness along his sides.

 

He thrusts up against me, slowly, rolling his hips. ‘Tell me if we should stop,’ he says.

 

I shake my head; then lean down and kiss him, taking his mouth from the corner, sliding the tip of my tongue between his lips.

 

He whimpers, as though I had breached him, and pushes against me more urgently.

 

I lift my mouth from his, but only a little way, only so that I can whisper to him, plead with him: ‘Touch me...’

 

‘Let me in, then,’ he says, smiling.

 

I raise myself on my forearms, making room for him to reach me. The breeze strikes cool against my heated belly, and my cock rises, standing proud. He strokes me with his fingertips, and I can feel the strength that lies beneath their softness.

 

I cry out; I cannot stay silent. A fleeting look of concern crosses his face, until he looks into my eyes and sees that it was not a cry of distress…

 

Then he spreads himself, and I slide down between his thighs, pressing my length alongside his.

 

‘Kai,’ he whispers. ‘My Kai…’

 

My senses reel as he takes hold of both of us together; moves his hand in a gentle rhythm, holding me up, guiding me home.

 

It is so new, so astonishing, and yet so utterly familiar. I know that we have done this before, many times. I can’t believe that I could have forgotten; that my body, at least, did not recall how it was, to lie with him in bliss like this. And yet, this is the first time: we are creating the world anew with every touch and every breath.

 

My balls are tightening, and our pricks are slippery where they rub together. ‘We’re nearly home,’ I say. ‘Stay with me…’

 

‘Always,’ he says, breathing hard. ‘Always, my heart.’

 

I love it when he calls me that. Oh, I love it –

 

It sends me over the brink, like the river breaking its banks, swelling up, pouring out, covering the land with a flood-tide of its own issue; and I carry Arthur along with me. I hear him call my name, and feel his sudden release, his cock pulsing and softening against mine.

 

He lets go of us, and lies back, eyes closed, his chest heaving. I lift myself off him and sprawl beside him, one arm across his ribs, pulling him close, feeling his pulse beating strong and swift through his whole body.

 

He looks so happy.

 

I have made my Arthur happy.

 

Sudden tears well up and blind me; I bury my head in Arthur’s shoulder, and sob my heart out.

 

‘What is it?’ he asks.

 

‘Nothing,’ I choke, when I can speak again. ‘Just…’

 

‘Overflow?’ he says, and begins to stroke my hair, caressing the scar on my head as though he would bind it together with his touch, make me whole.

 

I sniff messily. ‘Something like that.’

 

‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘Let it go. It won’t wash me away.’

 

He pulls me in for another kiss, and now his face is wet too, but he doesn’t seem to care.

 

Neither do I.

 

What’s a bit of snot between friends – between lovers, even?

 

And Llud always did say that you’ll never catch a really big fish unless you’re prepared to get wet.


End file.
